According to the Story
by Elektra3
Summary: [Aveyond] How to become friends without really trying.


Disclaimer: Aveyond belongs to Amaranth Games.

- - -

It goes like this: Boy meets girl, and they hate each other until they don't.

Because he's used to being obeyed, this boy. He's used to getting what he wants. He's used to being powerful. He's used to being _special_.

Here's what he's not used to: Slave girls who roll their eyes at him and say, "_Whatever,_ Lars."

- - -

Actually, there's only one girl like that, and she's not all that special; she'd tell you so herself. And that's fine with her. She _likes_ not being special. She _likes_ not having incredible, once-in-a-generation magical powers. She _likes_ not being destined for anything much in particular.

Here's what she doesn't like: The fact that everyone around her seems determined to tell her otherwise.

- - -

So in a way it's comforting to be stuck on a hopeless-sounding quest with a horrible spoiled brat who likes nothing better than to let her know that she's no one worth mentioning.

Because while he's still a loathsome snobby brat, he's also the only person who doesn't expect her to be anything other than a thorn in his side. He doesn't need her to be special. He doesn't treat her like a gods-blessed relic for being able to shoot sparks out of a wooden stick. And he certainly doesn't act as if she's going to save the world.

- - -

Which, as he'd have told her if she'd bothered to ask, should have been obvious; of course he doesn't expect her to save the world. It is, after all, _his_ job. Isn't he the best sorcerer Shadwood Academy's seen in years? Hasn't he worked harder than anyone else?

Only if that's true, nobody's told her. Nobody seems to have told her that he's _good_, dammit, incredibly good for his age. Good enough to make her stop looking at him like he's the lowest scum to ever be trod beneath her heel.

Well, to hell with her. To _hell_ with her. He'll just have to get better, won't he? No, not better – the best. He'll be the best sorcerer who ever lived, and it'll be _all her fault_.

- - -

The only problem is, she doesn't seem to care very much. Which is fine; it's not like he's doing this for a stupid, ugly slave girl like her, anyway. But… it might be nice if she'd be just a little bit impressed. Nothing big. Skilled professionals like him don't need _compliments_ or anything. But would it kill her to look awestruck every once in awhile?

But it's okay. He doesn't care. Really.

Even if he can't help but smile a little when she says, "Good idea, Lars," as if saying complimentary things about him is the most natural thing in the world.

- - -

The truth is, much as she hates to admit it, Lars is actually pretty smart. He's still a terrible person, but he's not a _stupid_ terrible person. Which is okay; even obnoxious bullies have to have a few things that they're good at. And he's good at sorcery, too, no point in denying that. Calling himself the best sorcerer in the school wasn't just arrogance.

He's still annoying. He still gets on her nerves more than anyone else ever has. But somehow, she doesn't mind so much anymore.

When she's mad at him, she always knows exactly who she is.

- - -

And then there are the times when it's not even annoyance. Times when she finds herself rolling her eyes out of something that feels uncomfortably like fondness; times when she even finds herself smiling at him.

It's all the traveling together, she tells herself. You can't spend all that time on the road together, eating the same bland travel rations together, sleeping in the same drafty inns, and being soaked or frozen by the same bad weather, and not get a little bit used to them. It's not that his bad points have magically vanished; it's just that, if it wasn't for snobbiness and the attitude problem, he'd be someone she'd almost kinda like.

Maybe she almost likes him already.

Just a little bit.

- - -

When it starts to rain, he sends up a shield without even thinking. It's a little spell, barely a drain on his energy; it won't keep out more serious weather, much less an enemy spell, but it'll keep them from getting wet. All in all, nothing to even take notice of.

Except when she offhandedly says, "Thanks," he realizes that there was a time when he would have only shielded himself, and enjoyed the sight of her being drenched and miserable.

And how long has it been since he refused to help set up camp, or complained about the accommodations at the inns they've been staying at?

How long has it been since he's called her by anything but her real name?

- - -

The truth is, he's having trouble remembering why he hated her so much in the first place. He couldn't stand the way she dismissed him, the way she held him in contempt, but… somehow, it doesn't matter quite so much anymore. When she all but ignores him in battle, trusting that he'll keep his share of enemies at bay, it's hard to complain about how she doesn't respect him.

A year ago, if someone had told him that one day she'd absolutely trust him to watch her back, he'd have laughed in their faces. Now that it's true, he doesn't bother to be shocked; that's not the real surprise, anyway.

The _really_ surprising thing is the way he trusts her to watch his.

- - -

She's staring out the window of the cottage that was once her home, ignoring the room behind her. The people who aren't her parents are busy listening to Elini telling stories of far-away Veldt, while Te'ijal tries to see how many corners she can back Galahad into, and Dameon looks on with amused interest; she's busy too, fiddling with the ring in her pocket, gazing out at the town where she used to live and wondering when it became so small.

"Are you done moping yet?"

"Just thinking."

"Huh. Looks like moping to me."

"I'm _thinking_," she says again, rolling her eyes at him. "People with actual brains do that occasionally."

"Please," he says in a lofty voice that would have been serious once upon a time. "My brains are more actual than yours will _ever_ be."

"And since when did you have any brains at all?"

"Compared to you? Since always."

"Jerk."

"Moron."

"Whiny brat."

"Pouting child."

"Poutier than you? Ha!"

"At least _I_ didn't resort to name-calling."

"At least _I_ didn't try to copy the person who resorted to name-calling."

"Which would be you."

"Which would be the person who's one-up on you. _Brat_."

There's silence for a moment before she turns away from the window to face him. "Lars?"

"Hm?"

She means to say something sarcastic, but it doesn't come out as anything but, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." He cocks a brow at her. "_Someone_ had to distract you from your self-pity."

"Oh, shut up."

She's a little bit more cheerful at dinner that night, and her good mood holds until they leave. She hugs the people who raised her, and promises to write, and says how much she'll miss them, and knows that she'll never return.

- - -

It goes like this: Boy meets girl, and they hate each other until they don't. It's not that they'll no longer fight, or get on each others' nerves; personalities don't just magically unclash, not even on an epic quest to save the world.

But sometimes they'll learn to tolerate each other along the way. Sometimes the boy will be so busy being just as good as he bragged he was, he'll forget to be resentful of the first person he ever met who didn't think he was anything special.

And sometimes the girl will learn to see the good traits alongside the ones she despises, and find a friend in a horrible spoiled brat. She'll still get annoyed with him sometimes, but it doesn't matter. Because somewhere along the way, she'll find that she's changed just as much as he has.

Somewhere along the way, she'll realize that she thinks of a different set of faces when she thinks of being home.


End file.
